Full Circle
by starlover11
Summary: Buffy reflects upon Spike's death on the Hellmouth. Spuffy.
1. Dead

Disclaimer – anything you recognize, I don't own

He's dead.

I can feel the tears run down my face, symbols of that which some would term misery,but all I feel is emptiness.

I saw him burn. He told me to leave but I stayed to see him in those last moments. He was so beautiful.

I realized later that his life had come full circle. He began as a poet, seeking to beautify the world through his words. Then he was twisted and all his longing for beauty buried deep by Drusilla, Angelus and Darla. He came to the Hellmouth seeking a cure for her and another Slayer to add to his tally. But he was straightened, unwittingly, by me. His golden girl.

He'd never admit it but he was becoming a Scooby. He did good. When I came back form Heaven he was there for me, offering his love. I used him as a way to reach Heaven again and he didn't object.

Then I thought I was brought to see reason again by my ex. I told him and myself that it was killing me to use him. What I didn't disclose to anyone was that it hurt me more to leave him than to use him.

In a way, I sent him to torture. He went through trials for his soul and I know I drove him to it. He came back insane and didn't want me to know. Tried so hard but a vengeance demon was his undoing. Ironic, really, that the patron of scorned women undid the ultimate sacrifice.

And then that fateful twilight hour when he died.

Died.

Dead.

It seems to final, too still a word for Spike. He was always in motion, whether it be smoking, fighting, making love or simply fidgeting. I miss that.

I miss all of him. The snarkiness, the dancing – we never really fought, the love, hell, even the smell of booze, leather and cigarette smoke.

I wanted his ashes but they were buried under tons of destroyed town. I took a shard of metal instead. Just a scrap that sits on my bedside table to remind me.

To remind me of love, purity, hope, perseverance, how perceived stupidity can be endearing and beauty.

To remind me of him.


	2. Haze

I live in a haze.

Of lies, of blood, of emptiness.

The lies I tell myself, the lies I tell my friends. _ Yeah, I'm fine. Really. I'm dealing. I mean, come on, he was a vampire, it's not like I loved him or anything. _

But I do. He didn't believe me on the day the Hellmouth burned and I told him. But it was true.

I still love him.

I felt like this when I sent Angel to hell. Broken. Alone. Now, ironically, he's the only one who understands. Spike was his childe and my love. Angel felt him disintegrate, just as I watched him dust.

God, he was so annoying, bossing me around even when he knew he was dying. Or undying, as it is. _Go . . . _

Angel and me sparred for hours at a time, until we were both too exhausted to move. I cried and he stared off into the distance, remembering. Sometimes he would tell me what he recalled. Not all of it was pleasant but I needed to hear it.

Once he told a story of when the four of them were in Italy in 1886.

_Spike had found a girl who intrigued him and followed her. He found out about her abusive, sheltered, luxurious life. Her name was Angelica and she lived in a golden cage, according to the poet still within him. Spike found her walking home one night and turned her. Made her his childe. We were a family and traveled to China, mostly on Spike's urging. He wanted to kill himself a Slayer. He and Angelica found her, fought her and killed her. _

_But Angelica didn't survive. The Slayer had done too much damage. It nearly destroyed him. _

_He didn't change outwardly but inside I knew he was in agony. _

If Angel had told me this story years ago I wouldn't have believed him or cared. Now I see how deeply Spike could love. He did love without his soul.

He loved me.


	3. Him

I'm beginning to let go.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It's been so long since he died that I can't hold onto hope anymore. I mean, no Scooby ever manages to really die (with one exception – poor Tara) so I thought he'd be back.

He was always around somewhere. In the shadows, the Magic Box, his smoking tree, his crypt, so many places where he was. He was everywhere I was or wanted to be, offering his help, such as it was. He didn't care what I did to him, not much at least, and I never realized jut how deep his devotion ran. He followed me to so many places.

They're all gone now.

In a way it's helped me move on. I can't go to his crypt and sleep in his bed or sit under his smoking tree. I haven't been able to hold onto much, just memories, photos and a shard of metal.

I sit in my bed at night and feel so alone but I'm getting used to it. I've tried anything and everything I can think of, sleeping pills, one-night stands, even spending the night with Angel. We do still love each other but not romantically. We'd die for each other but I know that for him Cordy comes first and I rank second with Connor. I've accepted that.

So now I spend my nights alone in the dark he loved so much.

Tonight I feel restless and can't settle. I toss and turn for ages but I'm on edge, my nerves being scraped raw by _something._ I finally give up and go downstairs to work out my energy on my unfortunate target, aka a punching bag. I hear voices as I go down the Hyperion's grand stairs and see a light coming from Angel's study.

I squint my eyes against the light and venture closer, opening the door. The voices stop when I do. I fully enter and see Angel and . . .

Oh God.

It's him.

It's _him._

Lounging in a chair, feet up on Angel's files, looking up at me with shock that melts into a mix of emotions that are too many to name, mouth forming my name.

Buffy . . .

Angel rises when I enter, saying my name, trying to stop me. I hear him as if from far away. All I can see is him and all I can hear my ragged, erratic breathing. He moves to reach for me but I shy away.

No no no no no no he's dead Spike's dead you're not him not real am I hallucinating? No not him he's dead saw him dust can't be here too much can't stay gotta escape gotta run

I bolt, sprinting for sanctuary in the form of the streets of L.A.

I don't care that all I'm wearing is a tank and red flannel pants, I fly through the streets, just trying to escape the tsunami of emotion trying to engulf me at the sight of his face and the sound of his voice.

Buffy.

My name echoes all around me and I blindly turn corners, pushing my body ever harder. I end up at the beach and collapse on the dark sand. My body shakes with sobs and I curl into a ball, hugging my knees to my aching chest.

Buffy.

His voice is amplified in my ears. I hear him call my name every time a wave crashes onto the coarse sand.

Buffy.

Buffy.

Buffy.

Buffy.

I hear it again and again, ever louder and more real. I've lost all sense of time when sobs stop wracking my body but his voice, God, his voice, it won't stop. I feel my stinging eyes closing and I do nothing to stop them. Gracious darkness, blessed oblivion claims me.


	4. Never

When I wake it's still dark and I am being shaken awake by a large hand. Buffy, Buffy, wake up.

Buffy.

I sit bolt upright, nearly breaking Angel's nose in the process. I scrub the sleep from my eyes and try to focus them.

Angel?

C'mon, we need to go back to the hotel. Dawn's an hour away.

Dawn?

Yeah, sunrise.

Oh.

He helps me to my feet and I stumble to his car. The leather interior smells like his duster.

Oh God.

Last might crashes back down onto me.

He was here.

He was here.

Angel?

Yeah?

Who was in your office last night?

Last night?

Yeah. I heard voices and I came in and . . .and Spike was there.

Oh. You remember.

I think probably would.

Pause.

Was it really him?

Angel expels and unnecessary breath.

Yes.

Oh God. I-it can't be, I saw him burn, I saw him dust, you felt it, I knew it.

No. It can't be him. You have to be wrong.

I'm sure it's him.

You're wrong.

I'm not. I can feel him through our bond, remember? He's still my Childe.

We sit in silence for the rest of the drive. We pull up and I exit the car slowly, deliberately. I can hear loud voices in the hotel.

I push open the door to see Dawn screaming at him, her face red and him cowering. The sight would make me smile if it wasn't for the impossibility.

You bastard! You let me think you were dead! I went through all that grief and now I find out YOU'RE ALIVE!

Er, that would be undead Nibblet.

Don't interrupt me! I'm not even close to finished! Do you have any idea of what I've gone through! What I'm going through! What you've done to Buffy! She's like a freaking ghost! She is still mourning you! She comes so close to dying every night on patrol, just throws herself at an enemy and doesn't care or even NOTICE when she gets hurt ALL BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO ADMIT YOU WERE STILL ALIVE!

Undead.

DON'T INTERRUPT ME!

I walk forward, my bare and bloodied feet dragging across the floor. I see his nose twitch and watch him inhale deeply. His head turns and he stares at me, totally disregarding Dawn's impassioned tirade.

Could this be real.

I take another step and he watches me. A tear, one I didn't know I had left in my body, trickles down my cheek. He licks his lips.

I stumble the last steps and collapse on him, babbling through tears.

Don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me never again never again I couldn't bear it I would kill me don't leave me you swore you never would don't leave me

I won't.

Those two words, so softly whispered into my ear break down any last barriers I might have and I kiss him fiercely, deeply, hungrily.

My tears are still flowing freely when he scoops me up and moves us to a nearby sofa. I twist my fingers in his platinum hair and pull it. Hard.

Hah. Made him yelp.

I stare deep into his blue, blue eyes and repeat myself.

Don't ever leave me.

Never again, he promises.

I'll never leave you.

Finis

A/N – this is my minific. Hope u like. Fact – the shard of metal is from the Sunnydale welcome sign. Any questions, send me a review with your email in it. I'll try to answer them.


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